


Western Swing & Waltzes (and Other Punchy Songs)

by Pyewackettt



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyewackettt/pseuds/Pyewackettt
Summary: After an unacknowledged fallout as teenagers, Sylvain runs into a now adult Felix at the local bar several years later. Felix is back in town for the summer to complete research towards his Master's degree and Sylvain is at a loss of words.It’s early may, the snow is almost gone, and Sylvain finds himself wishing for the opportunity for a reunion, or at least an explanation- if Felix will talk to him for more than 3 minutes this time.Two difficult fools reunite in a mountain town.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	1. Man walks into a bar

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever piece of creative fiction. I just. I don't know. Here we are. It's 2020, I don't know if I'm any good at this.  
> My friend got me hooked on [this album by Colter Wall](https://youtu.be/6kACOojz9YQ), after which this piece has taken its name. 
> 
> And here we are: I needed to write self-loathing cowboy Sylvain, and suddenly I had a document with ten thousand words in it. 
> 
> Hopefully someone else also enjoys this quite specific AU I’ve cooked up for myself. There’s certainly background pairings happening, I’m not sure if I’ll end up tagging them or not. The tagging system is intimidating! I think I’ve kind of planned for about 7 chapters. It may also take me, uh, a while to complete, my work schedule is wildly unpredictable. 
> 
> cw for mentions/use of alcohol and recreational drugs. Canonical references to character deaths, as well as childhood abuse. Described symptoms of panic attack/dissociation are referenced too.

Sylvain kicked off his work boots and braced himself with a hand on the door frame with the effort of prying of his second boot. He’s starving and he needs a shower. This routine marked the end of daylight hours. The final drifts of snow were almost melted and the days were surly getting longer. It was May, spring was horrifyingly brief this far north in Faerghus.

The joke was always that by the time it was safe to put away your winter coat, it was time to get it back out again. Spring was clearly setting in, all the same. The horses recognised the shifting of the season as well, and there was an endless chore list to ready the property. It was far from the working ranch it had been in its heyday, but he was somehow just as busy.

Sylvain moved into the quiet entry of his once-family home, pausing to greet the series of wood framed portraits. He’d left some of the family ephemera, it felt right to look into the eyes of Gautiers come before. A taste of the legacy he walked around with like a permanent sliver. The kind of thing you could always see but somehow never rid yourself of. It was a bitter sort of self-flagellation rather than something like pride, seeing pictures of so many grandparents, and of aunts and uncles long passed on.

Alright, Gautier, a bit early in the evening for the self-loathing shtick. He let out a silent whistle. He had managed to self-right eventually, with more than a little help from his childhood friends. Most of them. Goddess, there he went again. As if anything about his childhood had been normal, or healthy, or “conducive to thriving”. Something about saying the quiet part loud, he was trying. He was keeping the roof up. He really was trying now, anyway.

He sighed, flipping a light switch. The old shepherd dog lifted his chin at the click. “Hey Buck,” Sylvain called, “thought you’d gone deaf?” The dog yawned and shifted to tired feet. “Well, if nothing else,” he began glibly, “they can roll over in their graves knowing you sleep indoors now, eh boy?” Buck followed him into the kitchen and did not answer his question. Pointless to taunt the dead, also pointless to ask a deaf dog questions, really.

The dog had never wanted to sleep indoors till this year, despite his little joke. Buck was showing his age, the scruff around his muzzle mostly white. Maybe this spring he would finally see about getting a new puppy. Easier to train a pup when you had someone to set a good standard- even if it had taken years for the both of them to learn good manners.

Sylvain was well aware neither of them, in fact, was getting any younger.

The house had never been a home. It had never been aglow with warm feelings. Hell, he didn’t even realize that love and care were things you could experience in a family. Even now he can pinpoint it, with too much clarity, when it really, truly dawned on him that not all families were like the Gautiers.

It started with Rodrigue’s teasing- the boys had tracked mud in from the cow field in a rush to join the dinner table. The Fraldarius’ special slow-cooked ribs were waiting for them, of course he can remember that too. Sylvain had frozen on the spot, anticipating the worst. Too frozen to even cower as Felix’s older brother passed behind him. Felix had groused that it had been Glenn’s fault they were late to get home anyway. Glenn cackled and pinched Felix’s cheeks, pushing past them both. Sylvain was 11 years old. He spent a lot time at the Frauldarius household from that summer on.

In that moment, over a stacked dinner plate, the reality of the strained atmosphere and casual cruelty at home had become acutely visible. He’d sort of just thought, well, that’s how families were.

As he wandered down the hall he cast a glance back at his own unused dining room. Even now the house felt closer to a shell, a hollow place. You can only ask a house to do so much.

In recent years his friends had started to spend time here, though, and he’d tried to make it feel cozy. He’d never really let on to half of what happened, though he’d managed to verbalize more in recent years. At least with Ingrid and Dimitri. They were still around.

The house had “Good Bones”, as Ingrid often commented, as if she was really speaking about Sylvain and some potential she continued to see in him. Trying to remind Sylvain he’d survived. She’d clap an open hand onto his shoulder, face worked into something like a warm smile. Ingrid always seemed to be worried at him, a caretaker to the end.

As if Sylvain was still the veritable ticking time-bomb he’d been at eighteen, hellbent on annihilating anything that was left of himself. And as if he wasn’t already tethered here out of some sense of duty and punishment. If he’d left, one way or another, he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake the history in any meaningful sense.

He ruffled the dog’s ears, humming to himself. It wasn’t that the self loathing was gone, per say, more that he wasn’t teetering on the edge of constant oblivion. Even if he could still see it, peripherally. He’d heard that once, someone had remarked it was like always knowing where the red glow of an exit sign would be. Ingrid knew this as well as he did. If he kept things in check, tidy, tight: then one day turned surely into another, and routine became a way to survive.

It was a quiet thing, mostly, and the wounds had largely healed over with time and love and care.

All in, things had turned out well, if not perfect. The years had been largely kind in their adult lives. They shared meals and holidays and fishing trips, his friends-turned-family. The town stayed busy in the high season. Sylvain looked after the horses and working on his paintings. And most nights he slept soundly; the way you do after a day spent out in the sun.

Presently however, if he wants to meet his friends and only be respectably late, then he needed to get moving. Ten minutes and an efficient shower later, and he’s slipping into a pair of wranglers that could be described as glove-like. Sylvain knows this is a good look. Funny to think back on how he used to fret and fuss over his appearance in moments like this. College-Sylvan is not someone he wants to revisit if he can help it, and he quickly towels his hair again for good measure.

Things were on the verge of moving beyond casually deconstructed to actual mullet. He leveled a crooked smile at himself in the hall mirror. It was an angle he could work, a few days of beard growth and shaggy hair pushed away from his eyes. Let it never be said Sylvain Jose Gautier put in too little or too much effort. He now specialized in easy charm; well worn to the heels of his boots.

So. Tonight, Sylvain Jose Gautier had decided he was going to have a Good Time.

If he had come to the bar on a Friday night to split a pitcher with some friends and find a quick fuck, could you really blame him? It was only why everyone wound up there, casually leaning on the waxed bar once a week. Or twice. Who was counting? The beer was cheap and the crowd was friendly.

The orbit of town was inescapable to him, to mostly everyone, but there was joy to find in the moments between. He shifted the truck into park, neon bar lights reflecting off the hood, casting a pink glow into the cab. He had been slow to arrive, the regular crew was probably long settled inside.

Sylvain took his turn at the bar, leaning only slightly into the personal space of tonight’s barkeep. He wouldn’t try it on with just anyone, but he and Hubert had established a friendship, albeit slowly. It took time to find your place in a small town. Somehow Hubert working late nights here made sense, physically, even if he stood out around town otherwise. Hard to miss someone as tall and imposing and dressed in all black as Hubert. Particularly when everyone in town had known each other since before they were born.

“Evening, Hubert,” Sylvain offers an easy smile. Hubert feigns a roll of his eyes as he begins to pull a pint. He clears is throat and sets the glass within Sylvain’s reach. Sylvain nods his head with a little smile, recalling their first interactions with fondness. They were stood exactly as they are now. Hubert had immediately drawled at Sylvain sauntering up to the bar that his flirtations were not going to get him anywhere. Prickliness aside, they had developed a teasing camaraderie and a quiet friendship. A little banter went a long way.

He had also quickly caught on to the sidelong glances Hubert spared a particular friend of his. If Sylvain had cracked a joke about ‘his tastes in redheads’ on that first night, he reined himself in immediately at the barely concealed blush the comment provoked. He realised in that moment that the new barkeep was not as stone-faced as he projected.

Sylvain was determined to play wingman if it took all spring, hell, all summer at this rate. He had even begun reassuring his new friend that the token of his affections was simply oblivious to all but the most overt romantic advances. This kind of period-drama pining was like a foreign language to Sylvain, in honesty, but it was sort of fitting. Considering Hubert was a writer with a penchant for the gothic, and considering Ferdinand had an equal flair for the dramatic.

Once, even, Sylvain had needed to hide his grin behind his own fingers as he watched Hubert’s pained expression at a casual touch of Ferdinand’s hand. The honest to god Austenian ridiculousness of it all. You could practically storyboard a dramatic film adaptation around the two of them. So, Goddess help him, if he continued to fabricate reasons for Ferdinand to approach Hubert, he would bear that burden.

It was exciting to meet new people in town, where everyone was so well versed on everyone else’s personal life. Dimitri would tease him, something about “sharks smelling blood in the water”, when he’d explained this newest friend. He was glad for it, as was Ingrid. Their pack-like friendship as children had happily expanded to welcome an assortment of newcomers.

Sylvain turned with his elbows on the bar, twisting on a boot heel to watch the crowd. He and Hubert had a chess game set for Sunday afternoon, and they’d catch up then. Hubert was rarely so chatty on the clock. Perhaps over tea he could finally talk some sense into him about the romantic denseness of dearest, sweet Ferdie. Call it an act of horsegirl solidarity.

He had a sense that things would work out for Hubert. Sylvain didn’t see himself as a matchmaker so much as a facilitator. It was easier to do so than, you know, actually acknowledge his own feelings or something. If he was going to self reflect, he could probably stand to spend a little more time with people than out with the horses. How time changes you! And he should really be getting on with his own peacocking if he wanted to catch some eyes.

He scanned the growing crowd quickly. It wasn’t that Sylvain only thought about fucking, it’s just that it sort of remained the perfect, self-devouring vice. It was something he was really did excel at, he could make people feel good, and he did, often. Ingrid would sometimes ask him in an exasperated way to tone down the antics, or at least try another therapist.

He had tried therapy, too, when he was younger. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t particularly good, either. It seemed easier to Sylvain to love generously and bow out before more was asked of him. Everyone got on with their life, just with a little more dopamine.

Tonight would not be the first time Sylvain planned to leave his truck parked in the lot out front to find somewhere to hang his hat. And It was certainly a little easier to do so in the spring when new faces began to appear.

That said, he couldn’t honestly say there was anyone he didn’t recognise tonight. Perhaps he would be driving home alone, despite his excruciatingly casual best efforts. Call it a night for friends, for now. Hope springs eternal. Especially when it came to finding a lay.

He watched men and women mill about, mostly folks he knew well. He set his shoulders back, pasted on an easy grin, and made his way over to the regular booth. Perching on the vinyl bench seat next to Ashe, he set his chin to his palm. Ashe was deep in some sort of story, eyes wide and pressing his hands to the tabletop.

“Sylvain! You’re finally here! Ok, well, now I gotta backtrack,” Ashe motions for him to move closer. Dimitri was positioned next to Dorothea, and seemed to be trying to minimize the amount of space he was occupying. Sylvain nodded, motioning for Ashe to resume.

“Ok, alright, so I stopped by the station today, y’know, dropping off the weekend food.” Sylvain nodded again, glancing to Dorothea and her polite smirk.

Ashe took a sip from his mug before continuing, “Normally, the new researchers, the arrive just before May two four, right? But Lin said because of the weather the season is starting early.” Dorothea looks focused now, “Ashe, get to the _boys_.” She draws out the last word devilishly.

Ashe spins his hand, as if willing himself to spill the news a second time, “Sylvain, I met the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life!” He sighed, “He seems so… cool, you know? He has this amazing lilac hair.” Ashe scrunched his fists to his cheeks, he really is the sweetest man alive. He turned to Sylvain with complete earnestness, “He asked if I had any, uh, treats in the back of the truck, and I said no, but that I’d bring cookies on Monday when I stop by next.”

Dimitri looked incredibly serious now, “He doesn’t even know you… why would he expect food?” At this Dorothea leans towards him, with all the patience she can muster, patting his arm, “Dima, he was flirting.”

Ashe looked suddenly distraught, “I wasn’t sure? Oh, no, no, what if I’ve offended him already.”

Now Sylvain cuts in, his turn to be a voice of (questionable) reason, “Ashe, you’re good, you are great. You’ll get to know him,” he took a swig from his glass, and picked up speed, “and you’ll ask him on a date and maybe you’ll make out in the field station library.” A teasing guess, but well wished.

Now Ashe is really blushing. They’re all a little giddy. Springtime has that effect.

Sylvain grinned as he raises his glass. Ashe’s excitement was always infectious. He had moved to town not long after Ingrid, Sylvain and Dimitri had graduated highschool and had quickly become a stalwart member of the group.

“Well, anyway. I didn’t get to speak with them for too long, there was about five of them arrived today. They were busy, y’know, unloading vans,” Ashe continued, “I offered to help but, uh, the one guy, he didn’t seem so keen on me sticking around.” Ashe paused now, wistfully turning his glass as he picked at the coaster.

“Well, you’ll have to make your intentions known,” Dimitri remarked somberly.

“All in good time, my friend,” Sylvain slapped a playful palm on his knee.

The easy banter continued at the table. A small band has settled on the raised platform-serve-stage, some local act. There’s shuffling and some tentative chords rang over the PA. Moments later a familiar steel guitar riff cuts through the room. Bold to open with a Patsy Cline cover, Sylvain thinks, hooking an arm over the back of the booth to survey. The gathering crowd seemed receptive. 

“Sylvie, let’s dance?” Dorothea cooed sweetly. Never one to deny her, Sylvain slid his glass towards Ashe, “It would be my pleasure.”

Dorothea leads him to the lowered dance floor, tosses her glossy hair over her shoulder, and they fall into an easy two-step.

“So, Thea, you wanna talk about it?” He breaks the silence between them, and Dorothea lets out a long sigh, she drums her fingers on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what to say, Sylvie, it’s like one day everything is perfect, and I try to…” she drifted off, a silent chuckle, “I just try to tell her how I feel, and then it’s like she shuts off completely.” Sylvain hums an acknowledgement. Dorothea continued, “I know I just, well, do I wait? Do I hope she… feels the same,” her voice sounded tight.

“Ingrid is,” he mused with a pause, “awkward.” Dorothea looked up at him, a resigned huff. Sylvain makes a pass at humor, “hmm, look, more horse girl problems.” Dorothea’s mouth quirks, and he shuffled them with a spin so she now has full view of the bar.

Ferdinand is leaning oh so casually at one end, inspecting a length of his own hair. Hubert is, cleaning glassware? He isn’t really moving and his eyes are trained down. Dorothea giggles, her attention back on Sylvain as they continue to dance.

They sway like this through the rest of the song. He meets her eyes, “I don’t know what to tell you to fix it, it’s not that simple, but I think you need to be honest with her.” He paused momentarily, considering, “I think, maybe, she’s scared? I don’t know if waiting will help her figure that out.”

Dorothea sighed again, pulling Sylvain into a half hug as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I think you might be right. You know, you should give yourself this kind of heart-to-heart.” Sylvain guffawed, returning the hug, patting the back of her head. “Aw, ‘Thea, you know I’m not a settling down, actually talk about my real feelings kinda guy,” he grinned. 

Without a missed beat, she cuts in. “Don’t even think about comparing yourself to a wild stallion or something, I will stomp on every one of your toes,” she warned with sharpness and love in equal measure. Sylvain reeled, pulling back to take her hands. He’s still laughing and there might even be a tear in the corner of his eye, ‘I wasn’t, hah, I wasn’t going to!” he spits out between cackles. “But I might now!” He dodged away from her, calling back, “another round?” as he made his way up the step. 

This is where Sylvain became once again frozen to the spot, locked in place, one hand gripping the short railing.

There is an unmistakable figure standing just to the side of a group of newly arrived patrons. For a moment he thought that he’s having some kind of fit of nostalgia, and then the man he’s watching turns and his profile comes into view. The same sharp eyes, hair still chaotically pulled back into some kind of inexplicable ponytail, an expression that almost reads as a sneer. He may have matured out of the last softness of his adolescent face, and grown a little taller, but there is no denying that the man Sylvain’s eyes have locked onto across the bar is Felix Hugo Fucking Fraldarius. A face Sylvain thought he would never see again, least of all here, tonight.

It's like the most wrenched and confusing period of Sylvain’s teenage years is replaying now, bubbling to the top of his mind. He feels like his stomach has dropped out. Every summonable scrap of bravado has evaporated.

Felix is absorbed in some conversation, or at least Sylvain appears to still be undetected. He hoped. With all the grace of a frightened rabbit Sylvain spun on his heel and retreated back into the safety of the booth. Ashe peered at him with concern, and Sylvain managed to grit out, “Felix Fraldarius is here.” Dimitri furrowed his brow and immediately bolted to standing in the most unsubtle movement imaginable. Ashe edged around the edge of the booth and whispered, “the scientists!”, and then continued with horror, “Oh, no, no, Dorothea is walking over to them.” Sylvain groaned and put his head in his hands.

Sylvain cycled through his memories. He really thought he reconciled all of the fallout of teenage Sylvain, but here it all was again, as if someone had slapped down his own journal, ink not yet dry.

They had been the very best of friends, he and Felix. When it wasn’t just the two of them, it was the four of them, finding new ways to get in trouble: staying up too late playing spotlight tag, sneaking midnight snacks from the Fraldarius’s pantry, begging Glenn to get them fireworks. Well, that had mostly been Felix’s idea. They were a group of ragtag almost-siblings.

And somewhere along the transition into junior highschool, things shifted for Sylvain. Felix was still his best friend, but there was an added layer. A burning crush Sylvain couldn’t quite make sense of yet. His words always seemed to come out in the perfect way to cause irritation, Sylvain would tease just a bit too much for Felix’s liking. Felix told him to fuck off a lot that year.

And junior high had turned into highschool, and they had remained close, mostly. As the stability of his home-life collapsed, Sylvain fell into an increasing character study of truly obnoxious teenage swagger and predictable, if destructive, methodologies of “acting out”, as his exasperated mother would sigh. It was a convincing performance. With the constant shouting matches and slamming doors and blows between Miklan and their father, and Miklan’s increasing propensity to make any time Sylvain did spend at home absolute and true Hell; Sylvain had begun to be somewhat difficult, too, with his friends. Sylvain the class clown, Sylvain the skirt-chasing flirt, Sylvain the party boy; anything to get attention.

That summer had been when things had taken a turn in all their lives. Sylvain had begun a trend of ill-advised hookups with a revolving door of girls in their graduating class. Dalliances which often ended in Sylvain being run-off by some older sibling. Miklan had officially been kicked out of home and had gone north to find work as a roughneck, at which point Sylvain had become the sole focus of their father’s barely restrained anger. Dimitri was slowly coming to terms with the unpredicted loss of both of his parents, and had moved in at Rodrigue’s insistence. Felix was keeping his head down, on track to graduate a year early having already earned a sizeable University scholarship. It was tense, and then things, well, imploded between the four friends.

Sylvain, in perhaps his most ill-advised move yet, had set his sights on finally hooking up with Felix. A maneuver he pulled off whilst almost too stoned to move in the back of the pickup at a bush party. A feat in itself, as all they had was the shittiest weed imaginable. Felix had yelled at him about something he said. He couldn’t honestly remember, but he knew it had escalated, Sylvain was sure he’d yelled back. Something shitty that cut way too deep. Felix had definitely slammed the door of the truck with surprising force, and they didn’t speak in the following weeks. The two seemed content to play a game of chicken called ‘who can act like the bigger asshole’.

And then, all Sylvain can remember from that August was the news that Glenn had been in a car accident, that the doctors had said he wasn’t going to wake up, ever. Felix had withdrawn from all of them, declined calls and visits entirely, and followed through with moving about as far away as he was capable of.

Sylvain groaned again, looking up to hopefully strategize or plan an escape route with Dimitri- except that Dimitri has apparently vanished into thin air, and he can already hear Dorothea calling his name. “Dororthea doesn’t know about high school at all, does she?” Ashe manages. Sylvain leans his head back on the booth and frowns. Ashe mirrors his expression sympathetically, having just witnessed the uncharacteristic scramble of Sylvain and Dimitri. It’s been years, and even though there had even been some very curt interactions at holiday parties, they hadn’t exactly conversed or acknowledge anything. At least he’d had time to prepare himself. This was not a situation in which Sylvain was in control.

“Ashe! Sylvain!” She looked around for Dimitri but goes on, unphased, “Lin was just introducing me to the researchers that will be around town this summer.” The purple haired man offers his hand to Sylvain, “It’s Yuri, a pleasure.” He slid into the booth next to Ashe, and Sylvain truly has to admire the ease with which conducts himself. “It’s lovely to see you again so soon.” Linhardt continues to inspect his nails.

Dorothea cleared her throat, and Sylvain’s attention snapped back. Linhardt continued to stare off into the middle distance. “This is Fel-“, and before she was able to complete the sentence, Felix huffs. “We know each other.”

Sylvain managed a dopey smile and mumbled, “yeah, old friends.” It sounded nothing like his normal practiced charm. What do you say to someone in this situation? I’m sorry, for, all of it? Including the stuff that I can’t rightly be sorry for?

Dorothea rocked on the ball of her right foot, clearly running the mental gymnastics of this interaction, and slipped her arm into Linhardt’s elbow, “well, I need a drink.” She whisked them away, Linhardt appearing only somewhat reluctant to be moved. 

Yuri had already settled himself next to Ashe, one knee crossed over the other with a feline grin. Sylvain watched them, and he doesn’t think Ashe had any reason to worry. He would be cheering right now if he wasn’t preoccupied with willing the universe to suck him into a pocket dimension. And Sylvain watched himself watch Felix- who looked equally uncomfortable with the present situation.

Felix was still frowning, but he finally looked back up. “I’m leaving now,” he said tersely, really looking through Sylvain rather than at him. It’s more words than they exchanged the last time they saw each other.

With that, he’s moving at such a pace Sylvain doesn’t even have time to react.

Ashe prodded him with a foot under the table and mouthed, “Go after him?”.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Snapping back to himself, he’s quickly pushing out of the booth, coat in one fist. He blustered out the double swinging doors, casting around for any sign of the direction Felix might have gone in. Except Felix is still here, and he’s crouched on the low concrete wall of the ramp, a lit cigarette between his fingers.

Sylvain doesn’t know what to make of this, adult Felix, perched like a cat on a wall. “You smoke now?”, he managed, incredulous. A moment, or several, passed in the night air. The pink neon washed Felix in a softness that made this feel even less real to Sylvain. It could be a dream. That would explain a few things.

“Only when I’m at bars,” finally came the toneless response. Right, well, he had technically been inside the bar. Sylvain is at a loss for words now, again. There is too much he should say, that he wants to say. Where does he even begin. Felix is wearing what appeared to be in a leather motorcycle jacket over some sort of down-fill liner. He was always cold when they were kids. Adult Felix, wears leather jackets, smokes? Was he warm enough? It’s like Sylvain is trying to compile any sort of facts about his current reality. The wind picked up, and it occurred to Sylvain to pull on his own coat.

Felix stubbed out the remains of the cigarette before pocketing the end. He finally turned to look at Sylvain. His eyebrows are drawn together, and his mouth is still set in a slight frown. “I’m going home now.”

“Wait,” this spurred Sylvain to action, “let me drive you, I want to,”-

“Nope,” Felix cuts him off, “I’m fine.” Sylvain stepped closer now, shifting in front of the low wall. Felix is still perched, unmoving.

Sylvain cleared his throat in delay, like this is a boss encounter and the timer is ticking out on dialogue options. “You’re at the research station, yeah? Let me drop you off, it’s on my way home anyway.”

Felix hopped down from the wall soundlessly, “Wouldn’t want to make Sylvain Gautier go out of his way,” before he added, “I’d rather walk.”

“Hey, that’s not-, I just,” Sylvain hoped he has schooled his face into something calm rather than the continued rush of panic, “Felix, you’re wearing all black.” Fine, he’ll make an appeal to logic. “There’s hardly a streetlight the entire way, you’ll be invisible to anyone driving.”

Felix looked completely inconvenienced by this reasoning. He knew that Sylvain was right. Like he was weighing up how long he’ll have to continue this conversation if he doesn’t agree, “Fine.”

Felix walks slightly out of step with him.

“New truck,” Felix stated as he clicked in his seatbelt.

Sylvain flipped the ignition, “Yeah, well, new to me, anyway.”

He continues, aware he’s begun to ramble but unable stop, “can’t play tapes anymore, only takes CDs, but I don’t mind. I still have them. The tapes, I mean. I play ‘em in the barn, mostly. Truck’s good though, It’s reliable, you know?” The second track of Blonde on Blonde begins playing and Sylvain managed to shut his mouth.

He pulled out of the lot in silence. Felix’s gaze shifted forward again, towards the truck’s console. “You still listen to all your oldies stuff, huh?” Felix almost sounded playful, almost. Perhaps adult Felix does jokes now? This whole encounter could stand to get weirder.

Sylvain’s mouth quirked up, “Oh, you know me,” His laugh doesn’t sound quite as easy as he aimed. He cuts it off with a little cough. This ride is going probably about as awkward as he anticipated, and they lapse into silence. Time for the last ditch effort, the quiet can’t become any more stifling. Sylvain hoped for some levity and sucked in a breath, “Does, uh, Depeche Mode still count as a current act then?”

He still had the cassette tape he picked up specifically for when he’d drive around with Felix on their spare classes. Years back, but the tape is still in the top drawer of his desk.

Felix restrained a small smile, “Yeah, Gautier, because Depeche Mode is timeless.”

The fact Felix still knew and apparently cared about 1 (one) band is a fact he can reckon with. It’s not like he’s suddenly relaxed, no, but it feels like there’s a little sliver of baby-faced history he can look in the eye. Perhaps there are still some tenuous threads of friendship here, despite the years of radio silence.

They drove the rest of the way just listening to the slightly fuzzy soundtrack. It could almost be construed as companionable. Sylvain hummed along to Visions of Johanna, self soothing, and and he felt less like he was going to crawl out of his skin, or, blurt out an unplanned chaotic apology.

He turned onto the access road, slowing. That was fast. What was time in the face of a looming panic attack?

“Here’s fine.” Sylvain nodded an acknowledgement, switching off the truck.

Further out on the country road, and without the music filling the space, the silence becomes a pressing third passenger. They both continued to stare ahead.

Sylvain should say something, he should. “You never called. Or wrote back,” that wasn’t an apology.

Felix doesn’t respond, so he continued, “I tried, and, I know Dima and Ingrid tried too.” He drifted off again, having run out of the will to continue.

Felix turned and Sylvain feels the full effect of his stare. He’s frowning again.

He will try again. He’ll make the word ‘sorry’ come out.

“I started to think you’d died,” he blurted out instead.

Ok. That was not an apology. Entirely the wrong thing to say, entirely too much of a call-back to the far too high number of bereavements between them.

Felix jolted back against the door, hand seeking the latch. “I’m not. Obviously.”

In all the scenarios he had imagined an apology or a reunion, it did not go like this. This was precarious. Sylvain sighed, “I know, I didn’t mean,” and before he could fit in another word, Felix had let the night in.

“Ok, well, thanks.” He moved so damn fluidly, and added briskly, “for the ride.”

Sylvain watched him stalk up the gravel path to the research station’s grad student accommodation. He still walked without a hint of patience, and Sylvain let out a laugh at this fact, too. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel and pushed his fingers back through his hair.

He can still feel the peripheral panic, fuzzy in his fingertips. Maybe, perhaps, it was time to actually talk to someone about this. Maybe just getting by on survival was not the operative strategy he had claimed as a way to handle the echo of panic. He drummed his fingers, noticed the smooth leather grip of the steering wheel like it was brand new.

Finally, he released a breath he was unaware he was holding back. Sleeping in his bed sounded like a much better place to be right now. He hummed again as the engine turned over, and the headlights flood back down the lane. Spring had arrived.


	2. Modern World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix Fraldarius goes on a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, this sat waiting for the final 600 words for like, 3 weeks. yikes. next one should not take so long!

The cool of the morning was a slight shock. Brisk. Felix had been away long enough, missed enough springs to have forgotten the way the sun plays a little trick on days like this. The memories returned to him quickly, and he grumbled and tugged the sleeves of his hoodie down his hands.

Something about being back here, like he should have anticipated the resurgence of teen angst. Like he’d stuffed every memory of high school into a deep freeze, just stashed it away, apparently, for demented safe keeping.

It was easier to dredge up the pieces that were good. Crispy mornings like these: Felix would be hovering around waiting for track practices to start, the team would mill impatiently. Joking and shaking out limbs to warm up the goose pimpled skin before they’d begin warm up drills.

Felix had fallen hard and fast for track. He liked to run. Running made sense. He put in effort. He went places. He liked the solitude. His mind quietened, his focus sharpened.

It wasn’t a surprise when he earned a scholarship on this merit, the surprise was that he ended up studying in ecology. The application of logic and reasoning to seeking patterns, the way he could push himself to seek answers. And being outside was a draw, as was being in a lab, alone. It reminded him of hunting with Glenn and Rodrigue, good memories.

Anyway, as far as running went- it was him and a pair of shoes and a path.

He had shifted into trail running recently, particularly since he’d aged out of the track team. His schedule was still filled with lab time and early morning runs. It has been so easy to answer the question of “what do you do when you’re done running?’ with, simply, ‘more running’.

Trail racing was a balm. It was all the parts Felix loved about track, minus the bit where it became a spectator sport. He flourished on trails. He got faster. And he was still much faster than most, that hadn’t changed.

The fire door thudded shut behind him, and he stepped out of the shadow of the building. He dropped one running shoe to the cement pad, efficiently catching his toes into the other. Curiously, Linhardt was standing on a rickety looking bench, faced towards the side of the building and studying something closely.

Felix turned and raised his eyebrows by way of acknowledgement, and Linhardt motioned towards him with the ceramic cup clutched in his right hand. Neither broke the morning stillness verbally, despite Felix’s curiosity.

Felix turned his attention back to his shoelaces.

Even though he’d been back a week, there were feelings he couldn’t quite put a name to. It wasn’t like he felt like a kid anymore, despite the memories of his practices, his classes. Neither was it that he thought he should, or like he expected to run into his brother at the general store, nor see his father’s station wagon parked in town.

It wasn’t just nostalgia, and he knew better than to entertain those ghosts. They’d laid Glen to rest years ago, and his father had moved to the city not long after Felix began studying his undergraduate degree.

And yet? And yet.

He couldn’t exactly ignore that other specters of childhood, ever present as they were.

The door banged against the siding again, drawing Felix back to the present moment. Yuri shuffled out, armed with remains of breakfast. Some sort of pastry with a dusting of powdered sugar.

He wrapped the lab coat tightly across himself. “Morning Linhardt,” Yuri managed through a theatrical yawn, “what’s caught your eye?”

“A moth,” he drawled, before he continued to inspect the wooden siding. Yuri leaned in closer, barely missing the arc of the white mug before he muttered something to the effect of ‘delightful’ and deposited himself on the step next to Felix’s abandoned shoe.

Sipping from a much smaller cup, Yuri turned his attention to Felix’s preparations. “Running away so soon, Felix?” the slight smile on Yuri’s face provoked a half grumble out of his lab mate.

“We really need to do something about the coffee, uh, situation,” Yuri swilled the remaining brown liquid in his own cup in small circles. Felix nodded, the burnt taste still fresh on his own tongue. It was abysmal, to be perfectly honest.

“Agreed, I don’t think I can do another day of that,” Felix continued to fuss over his laces. Felix may have been utilitarian in his approach to food, but this was too far.

“You are quite welcome to the tea chest,” Linhardt offered, having apparently given up moth-inspection for eavesdropping. Felix moved on to fix his second shoe, and leveled a long look towards the swish of Linhardt’s lab coat as the station manager departed.

“Thanks Lin, all the same, we’ll figure out something in town,” Felix called. Yuri nodded along enthusiastically, leaning back on his elbows to catch a sunbeam. The reliable acquisition of caffeine (good coffee, at that) should have been more promptly anticipated.

“Ashe mentioned that café in town, that they roast in house,” Yuri hummed, hooking an ankle over his knee. “If you are inclined to make a stop, that is.”

“Yeah, it’ll be worth the walk back,” he confirmed, daring another glance to the abandoned dregs in Yuri’s cup.

Yuri yawned deeply, letting his head fall back on his shoulder. Felix wanted to continue to talk, but was currently drawing from dead air internally. He really wanted to work on this newer skill, being the kind of person who made friends of acquaintances, had, you know, normal conversations. “You, uh, seeing Ashe today?”, he finally managed with only a little clear of his throat.

Yuri’s eyes flashed open and he shifted to sit upright again. Felix continued to fuss with his remaining shoelace. “I am!” he cooed, “he’s said he’ll show me how to harvest spruce tips for tea, isn’t that sweet?”

Yuri seemed genuinely excited. Felix mirrored his smile, internally relieved he’d asked a good question. It felt nice, to make a new friend in Yuri. “He’s very clever, you know, I’m sweet on him” Yuri grinned, pressing the cup to his mouth quickly.

Felix pushed his hair behind his ears. Yuri’s willingness to share was a little disarming. Admirable, too. It was difficult for Felix to imagine himself speaking this way.

Yuri turned his gaze to Felix now, setting the cup down again, “You’ll be off I suppose? I’ll see you later then.”

Felix nodded, rising to his feet, “Yeah, time to go, uh, enjoy your date?” His voice drifted up, it wasn’t supposed to be a question. Yuri let his head rest back on his shoulder and wiggled his fingers in a departing wave.

It was now time to do what he did best: put one foot in front of the other. Felix set his watch and headed down the forestry road. He shook out his hands and settled into the feeling of snappy muscles and cool puffs of air. He loved the first moments on a sharp morning, the way it hit the heat of your throat.

Good memories of teenage years aside, It was uncomfortable in so many ways to be back here. Felix couldn’t really pretend it was anything other than strange to suddenly stare it all down. It had quickly come to the attention of the station staff that Felix was, more or less, a local.

Yuri had made polite inquiries about the comings and goings in town, and Felix provided dry answers. He removed himself as much as possible from the local history, stepping back from ownership, or participation.

Since moving into the grad student accommodation on at the field station, he felt more like a tourist than someone returning to the place they’d grown up anyway. It was simply easier to tell Yuri about the way things were when he enacted a little scientific distance to the problem.

These feelings were no surprise, and yet the surfacing of it still pissed him off. He’d fumbled through a few reunion conversations; and yes wasn’t it funny that he was back after all these years. And yes his old man was doing well in the city, thanks for asking. And no, he hadn’t talked to Dimitri yet.

How could a week feel so fucking long, anyway.

He was thankful too, that the topic of the accident seemed to be untouchable.

The sun had hit it’s mid-morning high, and the air had warmed substantially. Running shorts no longer felt like a bad choice, Felix was thankful for small things. Feet striking the gravel in even rhythm, it was a very good time to be out.

He knew, at least, that their seasonal preparations were underway, which promised a lot of conversation-free hours in Felix’s immediate future.

He was getting on well with Yuri, though, and he didn’t mind spending time in the lab together. Yuri worked in a dedicated manner despite the fact they always seemed to be lounging whenever Felix entered the basement room. Clearly, he was in good company with Linhardt.

They’d been in the same department for the past academic year, but honestly, there just hadn’t been much reason for Felix to seek out conversation till now.

Well, technically Yuri was the one initiating most of the conversation, but, whatever.

When he thought of it that way, Yuri’s polite lines of question seemed fair, and yeah, friendly. They were becoming friends.

They had been quietly prepping lab equipment earlier in the week when Yuri had quietly asked Felix what he knew about Ashe. Felix grunted and got around to some sort of explanation. He had left town well before Ashe had arrived, and if there was a fast way to simultaneously feel pinned down by your history and also excluded, this was it. 

Yuri had not missed the jilted interaction between Felix and Sylvain either, and it only took a few days after the night at the bar for the topic to be broached again.

Felix had done a lot of frowning at this, because, where do you begin? He found himself frowning again now, fixing his gaze on the road ahead.

Felix settled on three words at the time, “A lot happened.” Yuri hummed and continued to stack their freshly set gel plates. Yuri returned to the task at hand, clearly knowing when to let Felix alone.

Really, there was no way he was going to say “So, I had a disgusting crush on my best friend.” Or follow up with, “My best friend who was clearly going through all kinds of shit at home,” and polish it off, “that same guy who had eyes for anyone but me until some sort of fucking dare at a party happened?”

Never mind the actual bit where Felix came close to receiving a blowjob in the back of a truck by way of rote exercise or trophy grabbing or some other such bullshit. Goddess help him. He would’ve blanked out that first fumble completely if it were possible.

Frankly, he would have fucking loved to have eternal sunshined of the spotless mind that whole night if it were his choice. Fucking embarrassing that his first kiss, first actual kiss, was with someone who couldn’t even remember the night at all, let alone the bit where he’d sidled up to Felix and whispered in his ear.

Frankly it was cursed that these memories continued to pour out of him. It wasn’t his usual style, nostalgia bathing.

Felix cursed under his breath, taking the turn in the road towards town. Surely everyone inwardly grimaced at their first messy hookups. It wasn’t special or remarkable. Felix was a human, humans experienced desire. The end.

And never mind all of the shit that went unsaid after the accident and Glenn’s death, and the fact Felix effectively excommunicated himself at the end of it. His choice. He wasn’t quite ready to look this in the eye, regardless of being back here, back in town.

So, yeah, he wasn’t a kid anymore, even if he was back here. Everyone has a Weird Time when they’re cracking the code on their sexuality, their personhood. Par for the course of teenage idiocy.

Felix was objectively normal. He did objectively normal human things. Plus, he had experience now, he had grown more confident. And sometimes he could look grief in the eye.

And right now? He was running.

As he made his way down the trail running parallel to the highway, he let his gate slow. He wanted to soak in the way the sun felt. The way the leaves had begun to burst. Felix was thankful his twenties had been remarkably quiet so far. He ran, he did science, he sometime went over to his old man’s place for dinner. Routine was good, dedication was better.

Sure, He’d hear bits and pieces over the past couple of years, Rodrigue often found a way to slip a bit of news into their conversations. Felix could never change the topic fast enough. He did his best to not dwell on the scraps.

Felix allowed his pace to run out as he pulled into town, he took the last few steps at a languid jog before stopping completely. Hands resting on his hips, he surveyed main street. Things had changed, simultaneously many storefronts were new to him, and still at once a familiar scene. Sylvain’s truck was in the angle parking up ahead. Felix considered that the first trip wire of his morning. Easily dodged.

He passed the window of the new gallery. It had been the video rental-come-ice cream shop of their childhood years. The thin gold lettering on the door was certainly an improvement on aesthetics. He paused to regard the landscape canvas hanging in the front window. An icy scene with an injection of neon pink that flipped the composition, an eerie glow. Felix couldn’t tell you much about art, but he liked the weird vibe of this. It was isolating, in a good way, could colour make you feel longing?

In the background of the gallery itself some movement caught his eye. A shock of red hair. Of course. Felix narrowed his gaze, he was going to have to adjust to seeing Sylvain around eventually.

Sylvain appeared deep in conversation with the same brunette from the bar. The one he’d been dancing with. Dorothea? Something like that. Felix was so thrown by that whole evening he wasn’t sure what information he’d retained. She was actually very pretty, if you were into that sort of thing, he conceded before moving on. He threaded his fingers together behind his back, leaning into the stretch. The tightness in his chest shifted a little as he walked.

It wasn’t any of his business who Sylvain was throwing his arms around. The last strained conversation they’d had at a Fraldarius holiday party had made it fairly clear that Sylvain didn’t have a need for Felix’s friendship anymore. Felix hadn’t known what to say then, and he apparently still couldn’t quite crack it.

So it goes.

Importantly, he was here to get coffee. He made his way towards the café. Mission restored.

The shop felt slick in a way that caught Felix off-guard again. He felt like he was back in the hip district around the university campus, not his hometown. He noted the hexagonal white tiling, the very modern looking concrete bar. A frankly excessive number of plants for the size of the seating area. Very millennial.

He began to inspect the shelves of beans and assorted coffee ephemera. He couldn’t help but feel Yuri would be better off making the choice. Why the hell was one coffee described as complex with almond notes and one as cherry with dark chocolate. He upgraded his assessment from desperately millennial to pretentious. Did Felix have preferences on these coffee flavours? It wasn’t something he took the time to consider. However, did Yuri? This seemed more likely.

“Felix Fraldarius, still all about the technical fabric life!” The voice was unmistakable, Felix recognised the interruption before he’d even turned to glare. He’d managed to avoid a Sylvain encounter after their night out.

He did not want to have this conversation here or now. Or ever, to be fair. Escaping would require care on his part. Firstly, establishing a safe perimeter for interaction. Perhaps the shop was in his favour, they’d have to both act casually. He hoped. His hand immediately swept down to smooth the hem of his shorts. He prepared to meet Sylvain with all the salt he could muster on short notice.

He set his mouth into a firm line, determined to dispatch this situation efficiently. Sylvain was looking down. Felix’s shoulders hunched towards his ears. Sylvain was looking. At him. Mortifying. He felt like a cornered cat, preparing to hiss out some curse. Shorts were a bad fucking choice, it turned out.

He held the oversized bag of espresso beans to his chest like a weird baby- as if coffee grounds had the power to establish a repulsion field. He should probably have said something by now, he couldn’t bring himself to look back up.

He held the coffee bag tighter. It appeared to be working, Sylvain did not move closer, instead raking a hand down the back of his neck.

“Uh, hi?” Sylvain sounded more cautious now. Like he had also reconsidered this interaction. Perfect. Perhaps, Felix thought, he could manage that quick exist, pretend he didn’t know who Sylvain was after a couple years.

Obviously, this was an untenable ploy. Admittedly. Sylvain seemed much more sheepish than the bluster he’d put on a couple of christmasses back. Felix narrowed his eyes, perhaps he’d jumped to defences a little quickly.

Felix took a deep breath. Inwardly schooling himself to not revert to being an antagonistic, shitheaded reflection of teenage memory. So, time to converse. Normally.

And, fuck, as if this stupid fool hadn’t grown into himself in a completely predictable way. The last time Felix had properly looked at him, shoved some over-liquored eggnog into his hand, he had still resembled the Sylvain he remembered in school. And now? An actual broad-shouldered adult where Felix had known a cocky, stringy teenager. Horrible. 

“Hello,” Felix managed, and added for good measure, “Sylvain.”

He was apparently hell bent on making this as uncomfortable as possible for himself. Sylvain seemed unperturbed, at least, a smile played at the corner of his mouth.

He was wearing carharts, the brown canvas riding a little too low on his hips. Stupid and infuriating. A reusable mug perched in the elbow of a heavy green workshirt. It made sense that Sylvain’s ease of being translated into this, and that meanwhile Felix’s proclivity towards track pants and metal band t-shirts had remained.

It wasn’t something he ever stopped to consider. Right now it had him feeling, perhaps in reflection of it all, a little bit childish.

At least, if this was just a quick stop, then he must be on his way to something? A Job? This was good, it would be easy to excuse himself if they both had places to be.

Adding insult to injury, Felix had to look up slightly to meet his eyes.

Felix was not short, nor was he insecure about his height, but something about the fact Sylvain now really did look down on him made him want to growl and spit. Felix shoved his bangs to the side of his face, mopping the remaining sweat from his brow with the cuff of his sweatshirt.

“Stocking up on espresso?” Sylvain gestured with a loose hand towards the bag of beans.

Felix nodded. “Uh, yeah, coffee’s pretty bad at the station.”

Really, he chastised himself, way to be a conversationalist. He could feel heat on his ears. The culmination of a week of weird reunion moments.

“I’ve heard that from Ashe,” Sylvain chuckled, “he’s up there pretty often, said Lin’s more of a peppermint tea kinda guy.” He ran a hand through the back of his hair again, same nervous habit, as his gaze dropped again.

“Ashe seems, uh, nice” Felix mumbled. Grasping at a way to acknowledge the passage of time. Sylvain’s hair still looked damp, he noticed, watching as Sylvain continued to fluff his hand through it.

Sylvain’s eyes shot back up, “Oh, yeah, dude’s a real sweetheart. He’d give you the shirt off his back.” He was smiling again. It was nice to know Sylvain had new friends, he supposed. Only fair to be replaced when you were the one who fucked off, his brain helpfully added.

Felix turned away, nodding again, he felt like he was about ten seconds from visibly shaking. Which felt unwarranted, unfair even. People with less to say spoke to each other every day about the weather, so Felix could certainly have a conversation with Sylvain now.

Time for a perfectly mundane interaction, despite the hovering ginger shadow to his right. Money for goods. He slid the bag onto the counter next to the one he’d already selected, and quickly unzipped the hidden pocket on the shorts to extract his card. 

“Wow, how functional,” Sylvain remarked, sounding more impressed than teasing.

“Yeah, I, uh, travel light still, old habits,” Felix said in one breath.

Sylvain set his mug onto the counter with a smile and wink to the cashier. She finished Felix’s transaction wordlessly.

“The usual?” she asked, walking away without waiting for a response.

Sylvain turned back to Felix with an easy smile now, “Hey, Felix, you ran here?”

“Yes,” Felix replied, an eyebrow quirked. Goddess, he was really doing his best to charm today. Managed a single word. Congratulations.

“Can I give you a ride back to the station?” Sylvain paused, “I’m meeting with Ashe and Cas to help them fix some fencing, there’s a moose…” he drifted off, his voice softening as he explained.

Felix swallowed; aware they were probably both recalling the shitty tone Felix had taken in their last conversation when offered a ride.

This bit was familiar, and Felix could feel the heat on his face again. So they’d grown but perhaps not changed that much. Felix was still quick to sharpness when offered help, and Sylvain was still apparently ready to throw his coat into the mud for just about anyone he could.

“That’d be really nice, actually,” he inhaled through his nose with a small smile. “I was just gonna run back, I guess.”

“Oh, cool, yeah,” Sylvain seemed taken aback, handing the cashier some coins, “I’ve just gotta drop off a painting, if that’s alright.” Felix nodded again, tight lipped.

They walk back towards the gallery without speaking. Sylvain opened the driver’s side door and reached behind to extract the wrapped parcel. Of course he left his doors unlocked. Felix deposited the coffee onto the seat, pausing to examine a photograph of the gang pinned to the sun visor.

Sylvain cleared his throat, leaning through the driver’s window. The physical barrier of the truck acting like a table for negotiations. “It’s nice to talk again,” Sylvain said, “I’ve really missed you around, you know.”

Felix looked up, leaning onto the frame. “I wanted to call,” Felix tried, “I did, I just, never knew what to say.”

Sylvain, hummed, looking down, “I dunno what you could’ve said to me back then, to be fair, Fe.”

“I could’ve tried though,” Felix grimaced.

“Sure, I could’ve done a lot better by you too,” his fingers danced over the brown paper. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t there when I should’ve been, when the accident happened.”

Felix frowned, again. It wasn’t like talking about Glenn’s death immediately incapacitated him the same way now, but he wasn’t really ready to do this here.

“Like I said, it’s nice to see you now,” Sylvain managed with a little cough.

“I get it,” Felix paused, considering, “I’m sorry too, I acted like a real fucker, before, and I didn’t really,” he picked at the hem of his shorts, his voice trailing off. They seemed to be doing a lot of that.

Felix finally looked up to read Sylvain’s expression.

“it was pretty fucked up, how it went down that summer, and I,” Sylvain cut himself short. Felix could hear the tightness in his voice, measured, but all the same. Sylvain’s easy smile wasn’t particularly convincing to him.

Sylvain was so much quieter than he expected him to be, it was unnerving, and one conversation wasn’t exactly going to patch things up.

Felix wasn’t sure exactly what part they were apologizing for, there was too much to cover right here and now. They both seemed to be trying. That was the important bit. Sylvain motioned with his head towards the shop, and they began to move again.

“It’s nice to talk now”, Felix agreed before pressing on the gallery door. This was a start, at least. Sylvain passed him, package safely in hand.

The gallery was as clean and modern as the coffee shop. Goddess, had the entire town been made over? Felix was immediately distracted by some stark tin-type portraits framed on the front wall.

Dorothea gestured with open arms towards Sylvain. “Sylvie baby! Back already huh?” She smiled at Felix now, who was still hanging back by a rack of prints, “and nice to see you as well!”

Sylvain made a noise that was half gasp, half laugh, and mumbled that it had slipped his mind, the last painting. Felix pretended to be caught up in the prints. Something about Sylvain engineering their encounter made him smile a little. Dorothea seemed in the mood to ask questions, and Sylvain was quickly making his way to the door.

Felix thought better to keep up.

“You seem happy here,” Felix remarked as Sylvain curled an arm over the headrest to back up his truck.

“Oh yeah? I guess, yeah,” Sylvain mumbled again, distracted with checking the side mirror.

“It’s nice,” Felix continued, “it’s good, seeing you happy.”

So what if he was a little bit emboldened at seeing Sylvain flustered a few minutes ago.

“You seem good too,” Sylvain turned a warm smile on him, “I’m uh, glad, that you’re good too.”

They fell once again into an easier silence. The seat upholstery was warm on the backs of Felix’s legs.

“And your girlfriend seems nice, too,” Felix said, shoving his hands under his knees.

Sylvain barely restrained a startled cough. “What, oh, no, what?” He was looking dead ahead out the windshield. “No, no, it’s not like that. ‘Thea is my, uh, agent, I guess? She sells my paintings.” His right had reached to fiddle with the radio dial. “I signed with her gallery for representation, she’s been amazing with getting me started,” and then he added, “ I don’t have a, uh, partner or anything.”

He set the dial finally, and continued to talk, “Had a couple small shows there, at the gallery. Uh. I didn’t stay in school, like, I did most of a fine arts degree, you know… moved back after my father died, you probably heard from Rodrigue about that, I guess.”

Felix looked across at him now. Sylvain looked unsettled now, not flustered in the way he had back at the gallery. Felix wanted to put him at ease. He just needed to say something, calming, he figured.

It was Sylvain who spoke next, “So uh, what are you studying? PhD?”

“Oh, no, it’s a master’s. Ecology.” Felix responded, still trying to process his thoughts.

He continued, “I’m looking at genetic studies, brown bears, like the interactions with highways and rail crossings. My lab mostly looks at carnivore population stuff.” He huffed, scratching at his ear, adding “It’s pretty cool.”

Sylvain grinned again, his hands easing on the steering wheel to downshift, “Oh yeah, sounds cool as hell, you’ll have to show me what it’s like sometime.” Before adding, more quietly, “If you wanted to, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, that’d be cool, definitely could,” Felix smiled back. “You could help me put up the hair traps sometime.”

Sylvain’s face lit up at this, Felix couldn’t quite restrain his growing smile. His ears felt hot again.

“I’d be so into that,” Sylvain said, pulling into the gravel lot of the station.

“Yeah, it’d be nice,” Felix said, as he unclipped the seatbelt, “we’d uh, have to hike, if that’s ok.”

Sylvain laughed, a warm sound, “of course! Like we used to.”

Felix said nothing, turning his face to the collar of his sweatshirt. This felt easier than he expected, like they were friends more than strangers. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been quite so fatalistic. Sylvain continued, “I’m always up for a walk.”

Sylvain moved away, rummaging for something in the truck bed. Felix scooped up the espresso under one arm, doing a sort of half wave.

“Oh hang on, I’ll leave you my number, it’s new. Well, new-ish,” Sylvain extracted a pen from the glove box, rummaging for scrap paper. Felix smiled to himself, eyes cast towards the station, perhaps they could find a friendship again after all. It was a start.


	3. you are a runner, and I am my father's son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to sit on this and stew for a few more days, but I'm realizing I'm learning more about writing when I'm not agonizing over every punctuation mark. I should probably add "slow burn" to the tags. I will do that.  
> Anyway listened to a lot of wolf parade this week. hence title. what do you mean it's not 2005?

Sylvain peered around the corner; he’d arrived a little earlier than he’d really intended. He was early enough that he’d parked next to Ashe’s van. Was he nervous to see Felix today? Absolutely not. Maybe. A little.

“Lin? Hey, hello? Anyone around?” he prods a pamphlet that’s been left on one of the formica tabletops in the central area, part dining room, part study. The field station was unusual in that it simultaneously felt like Sylvain’s memories of high school and also like the untouched, wood-panelled 1970s era basement at Dimitri’s place. He whistled to himself and tucked some hair back off his face as he wandered towards the coffee percolator.

“Linhardt!” He called out again, for good measure, and helped himself to a hot cup.

His eyes scanned across to the opened shutters of the kitchen. There was a tray of pastries. So many treats. Ashe’s baking was among the most coveted in town. Cinnamon rolls to die for. He leaned forward, weighing his options. Were they saran-wrapped and waiting? Yes. Did Sylvain wish to avail himself of a baked good regardless? Also yes.

He danced his fingers across the countertop. They were probably still warm. He should probably at least find Ashe, say hello, and then stuff a croissant into his face. Common courtesy.

He waltzed out of the main hall towards the office and library. “Oh Linhaaaardt!” He let his voice turn sing-songy.

Linhardt was probably asleep in the office, completely undisturbed, come to think of it. He may as well have been shouting down for his deaf dog at home. Sylvain paused in front of the open office door. There were signs of human habitation, but none of Linhardt himself.

Open textbooks across the floor, several discarded mugs, a ream of printed papers. Someone had scrawled ‘EISNER ARRIVES ON SUNDAY, CLEAN FISH LAB’ across the whiteboard in a chunky red marker.

The library then. Sylvain rounded the corner. He could faintly hear voices. “Lin? Ashe?”

He could almost make out the words “darling” and “dove”. He coughed, loudly. 

Ashe shot off the tabletop he had been seated on and whipped around to face Sylvain. “Wh-Hi, hello Sylvain!” His face was flushed and Sylvain had to repress a laugh. Ashe blinked furiously. Yuri’s hand gripped in his own. Yuri said nothing, resting his chin on Ashe’s shoulder with a contented look.

Sylvain swept his hand across his mouth, a sly attempt to hide his grin, “Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for Felix?”

“Basement lab, he’s fighting with some electronics,” Yuri provided. Ashe continued to look flustered.

The smile spread on Sylvain’s face, crinkling in the corners of his eyes, he couldn’t stop himself. Ashe looked back at Yuri, simultaneously like he was going to expire and burst into laughter.

Sylvain nodded and began his retreat to the hallway. He was delighted to see Ashe so happy.

“I’ll leave you both to it, then,” he chuckled.

“Take some croissants down, he always skips breakfast!”, Yuri’s voice lilted.

Sylvain has found himself, once again, on the threshold. He’s paused in the hallway outside the lab, where he can hear a string of grumbled profanity and the dull thud of something being dropped to the linoleum tile. He doesn’t often think of himself as afraid to act, and yet here he is, waffling.

He’s hesitant to disturb. It’s unlike his usual approach- he’d stride into Dimitri’s office without so much as a second thought. That kind of casualness feels a little too risky today, their renewed friendship a little too raw. Scabby, you might say.

Felix sighs, loudly, and Sylvain finds it in himself to move forward. Announcing his presence with a loud knock on the doorframe, he leaned into the dim lab. Felix was spotlighted under a desk lamp on a long arm.

Felix spun the tall desk chair, his feet hooked around the pedestal. Even in the low light, He caught the impatient furrow in Felix’s brow. Annoyed and ready to send away another interruption. His face softened by a fraction and he sighed again. “Oh, hi.”

Sylvain waved gingerly, crossing the room to the back wall where Felix has stationed himself, remarking, “kinda dark down here.” Felix huffed and crossed his arms.

Planting himself on the lab bench, Sylvain leaned against the neighboring cubby. As close as he dared to settle. Felix prodded at the growing mound of deconstructed electronics and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Heard you were holed up down here,” Sylvain said as he balanced the plate of croissants on his knee. Felix grunted an acknowledgement. He eyed the plate with suspicion. 

“One on the left is ham and gruyere,” Sylvain offered the plate up. Felix mumbled a thanks and tore into the pastry. 

Sylvain finally, finally tucked into the second pastry. All flakey, buttery goodness with a bitter chocolate centre. God, Ashe was an angel. A veritable pastry making angel.

Felix turned back to the lab bench with a grunt, leaning back in the rolling chair. He unceremoniously shoved the remaining pastry into his mouth. It shouldn’t have charmed Sylvain, it really shouldn’t. He strangled the smirk threatening to emerge. Behave. He scolded himself. The man had a willful disregard for manners. It was not intended to endear.

“I’m pretty sure every single trail cam from storage is fried, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Felix lamented with a huff, “Hazards of shared equipment.”

Sylvain hummed thoughtfully, inspecting the refuse pile more closely. Felix had abandoned a pair of thin pliers and a wire stripper. Felix scowled down at the equipment like he was ready to incinerate the whole bench.

He could source some parts in town, though it might take a week or so. He’d certainly repaired similar equipment for Linhardt, so he’d help Felix too. Plus, he was reasonably confident he could do it, so long as it was one of the basic components in the wiring.

He was committed to trying his hand, and worst case he figured he could find some parts and ply Caspar to help.

And if it was an excuse to station himself in the lab for a few hours alongside Felix? Well, Sylvain wasn’t going to announce that to the room, but he would seize the opportunity all the same.

He turned over one of the casings in his hand and glanced up. Felix was looking back at him, one knee crossed over the other, leaning his chin into the palm of his hand. There was a momentary flicker on Felix’s face, almost a smile.

“I can get parts, soon, if you can wait a few days?” He scratched at his jaw. That unconcealed smile tugged at the corners of Felix’s mouth.

“Meantime, can I convince you to take a break?” Sylvain set the camera shell down amongst the other pried apart pieces.

Felix nodded, kicking one foot against the lab bench, sending the office chair coasting away. “Fuck it, yeah, let’s go outside.”

They emerged into the morning sun, both squinting as they picked their way down the grassy slope. Felix kept pace to him with a slight buffer zone maintained.

Sylvain began, “So.”

“Mhm,” Felix replied. Wordsmith.

“So, how’ve you been? How’s, life in city?”

“Oh,” he paused, “it’s fine.”

If Felix had seemed at ease in the lab, he was tight lipped once again. Sylvain tried not to take this personally, Felix’s tendency to fall into silence was not a surprise. The atmosphere was still amicable, Sylvain had enough experience reading people (reading Felix) to know that much.

Sylvain nodded his head, fighting the urge to fill the silence up. They heard the low growly croak of a raven nearby. Felix’s eyes quickly scan around to spot the newcomer, but there’s no movement nearby.

“How much exactly did Rodrigue keep you in the loop for?” Sylvain said.

“Uh, like, enough. Still talks about Dimitri all the goddamn time,” said Felix, the tight frown visible again.

“Oh, yeah, he’s been doing a lot better. I’m sure he’d love to see you.” They’ve slowed down to the point they’re almost not even walking. Sylvain stopped completely, he mumbled “wanna sit?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Felix replied, unclear as to which statement he was responding to. He snatched up a twig as he seated himself cross legged on the grass. Felix’s eyes shot upward, impatient for Sylvain to join him.

“Did he tell you about, well, about my mother?” Sylvain seated himself in more of a heap, with little grace, one leg outstretched. Felix looked him in the eye, his mouth crumpled slightly before he broke the gaze.

“Not, no not really, I mean, I heard about Mik. I’m, uh, sorry”.

Sylvain scoffed. “Don’t be, I’m not.”

Felix twisted the stick into the soft earth, uprooting a little clump of grass. “Oh,” he quietly said.

Sylvain hummed, “I mean, there’s a lot to uh, like, unpack, with that” he gestured at himself, and then the ground with a flick of his wrist. Felix’s mouth tightened back to the set frown. “Anyway, maybe that bit is better left for another time,” Sylvain tacked on, effecting some sort of brightness.

“Sure, I’ll uh, listen, when you’re ready,” Felix glanced up, his eyebrows drawn together, “I mean, if. You want.”

He smiled, a limp thing. “Thanks, Felix.” He tore his gaze away, running a hand again through his hair, self soothing out in the open.

He supposed that was the funny bit about striking back up a friendship with someone who has seen it all. Each of these conversations involved a weird dance to catch the other up on all of these major life events, the awareness of time caught in Sylvain’s mind.

Felix wasn’t exactly less prickly, and he certainly had not changed so much as to obscure his annoyance or displeasure. If anything, Sylvain liked how openly he still wore his emotions- what differed was the functional conversation they were having. If you took some liberties with the word functional, he supposed.

He took a deep breath before continuing.

“My old man died of a heart attack a couple years ago, in his sleep, you heard that too?” Sylvain said without any ceremony. He glanced back up to Felix, who nodded.

“So, anyway, my mother moved to Brigid, she married some artist. Living her best life, I guess?” Sylvain closed on a question turned laugh.

“What? No fucking way, Brigid?” Felix’s surprise seemed genuine.

“Yeah, I know, honestly, good for her, right? She signed everything into my name.” Sylvain leaned back on his arms, his head lolled back.

Felix leaned forward, like he was unsure if he wanted to be critical or not. “Do you… miss her?

“No, not really, she wasn’t much of a mother.” He was the king of casual dismissal today.

Felix grimaced, drawing his arms round his knees, chin planted firmly.

Sylvain rolled onto his side and studied Felix for a moment. “It’s ok, it’s… I don’t blame her. We were just trying to survive. We talk sometimes now, you know, she’s trying to reconnect with me.”

A quite scoff escaped from Felix, he was unconvinced. Sylvain continued, “I appreciate it, that she’s trying now. I don’t want to stay mad with her.”

Felix turned a glare on him, still crunched into a tight shape. “But you were just a kid, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, I know,” he responds with a huff and he means to say, so were you. Sylvain watched Felix turn his attention back to the twig, he was drawing a looping pattern where the grass gave way to a gritty sand.

Finally, Felix began to speak, “You know, after Glenn…”

He coughed, clearing his throat. He pushed his fringe back behind his ear. Sylvain feels his stomach drop, after all they’d danced around the topic. He’s not going to push Felix. He’ll wait. Felix finally looked back at him, it was a raw thing.

“It took a lot of time, for things to be normal with Rodrigue. I was so angry, fuck, with him, with Glenn, everyone.”

Sylvain feels like his mouth is too tight to respond, he swallowed down on that dreg of grief. “With me, too.” He managed, so quietly.

Felix holds Sylvain’s gaze and Sylvain feels like he might collapse under it. Felix’s expression cleared, “Yeah, I really was, back then.” He shifted onto one hip, running the back of his hand over his mouth. “We were just kids,” he added with a single punched out hah.

“I know,” he hummed, “just, we’ve just never actually talked about it. I'm glad we can, now.”

The deep cawing started up again- there’s the sound of tree boughs smacking together, and the raven from before dips into the sky.

“So, you still don’t call him dad?” Sylvain chuckled.

Felix’s cocked up one eyebrow, mischievous, “Rodrigue? He never did get Dad to stick with me.” Sylvain’s laugh shakes, god, how little some things did change indeed. He watches the bird, quickly turning into a little smudge in the distance.

“He’d probably love to visit, see you, Dimitri…”

“Yeah! You should encourage him to come down when the weather’s a little nicer, I could cook?” he considers. “It’d be nice to host a big summer dinner.”

Felix hums, absentminded. He’s taken up the stick again and continued to make shapes in the sandy soil. Sylvain dropped forward to get a better look, he can see blocky capital letters, spelling out F U C, and where Felix appears to be carving a final K.

“Something on your mind, hm, Fe?”

Felix’s face swivels, “What?”

Sylvain gestured with his face, dropping his eyes back down for Felix to follow.

“Tch, no," he said with a curled lip.

Too late, Sylvain is like a dog chasing a squirrel, he saw the flicker of annoyance and has been spurred him on. He leaned further to the side, knocking his shoulder against Felix’s. Felix rolled his arm and resisted the pressure, before pushing back in kind.

“So. Anyone you’re thinking about? I could make some suggestions, you know?”

Felix huffed, indignant.

“Put in a good word around town, y’know. You’ve seen how happy your lab mate looks?”

“Goddess! Do you ever stop!” Felix said over a choked laugh.

“Yes,” he scoffed, “sometimes, eh, no.”

Felix rolled his eyes, groaning, “still incorrigible.”

A warm laugh rolls through Sylvain, “I just want you to be happy, Felix! If you’re gonna be here all summer, you should have some fun.” He raised his eyebrows, letting his head fall to his shoulder with a smirk.

“Sylvain, seriously, I hate fun.”

Felix pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and grabbed the ties with his free hand. Sylvain coughed, fishing for attention.

“Sorry I’ve gone blind to idiots and fools,” Felix griped with a measure of fondness.

Sylvain nudged him with his foot, he can feel Felix’s annoyance ratcheting up.

This was so much like the weekends of their youth.

There was the summer, before all the running, where Felix had been on the junior wrestling team. Goddess, Sylvain had constantly bothered him that summer. Anything to start a bout, a scrabbling play fight. Sort of hilarious to reflect on that and how long it had taken him to form tender new feelings into the word ‘crush’. As if it wasn’t plainly obvious.

Again, complicated rituals to touch each other, and all that.

“Remember when I’d come over to help you with homework, you were taking like, English lit I think, and we’d just end up wrestling… like, making pizza rolls?” Sylvain is still smiling.

“Yeah,” Felix growled, eyes fixed on Sylvain. Sylvain pulled back. It had seemed like a fun memory to touch on, but this may have been too far.

Felix pushed the hood back off his hair and raised his chin, appraising.

If Sylvain had been sitting a little closer, then he have been inclined to call the reaction a blush. Felix was, at the least, flustered.

Felix narrowed his eyes like a riled-up cat.

That was all the reaction Sylvain needed forge ahead, like they were playing parts. He narrowed his eyes back at Felix, pasted on a shit-eating grin, daring Felix to react.

He launched forward with a twist of his other body, knocking Sylvain backwards with a whispered ‘oof’. Eyebrows drawn tight together; his hands planted on either side of Sylvain’s shoulders.

Sylvain’s train of thought grinds to a singular screaming frequency.

He baited him into this, and he was not prepared.

Felix finally broke eye contact, looking down and away, and it’s agonizing. Sylvain attempted to hold his breath and then he feels Felix pant.

Sylvain is frozen.

Felix pants, he fucking pants and Sylvain can no longer process this second by second. As suddenly as he set on him, he’s scrambled off and up. As if he’d put his hand on a hot stove. Scowling.

Sylvain finally exhaled, bewildered at their momentary proximity. Felix grumbled and turned away. Sylvain’s stomach lurched.

“I should, get back.” Felix finally speaks, sweeping his hair back into place.

“Sorry I wasn’t very helpful today,” he said, flat on his back on the ground, like an idiot.

“It’s fine,” Felix was terse, hands planted on his hips, “Are you gonna get up?”

Sylvain gestured with open palms. He was pretty content to look up at Felix, actually. Laboriously, Felix rolled his eyes and held out his hands.

Gladly hoisting himself up, he rapidly tried to memorize the feeling of Felix’s fingertips in his palms. Very casual, Gautier. He stepped back, dusting the sandy soil off his thighs.

“Oh! We’ll be meeting up again tomorrow night. You should come with me, if you wanted to, come to the bar, I mean,” Sylvain said with a remarkable lack of chill. Good going.

Felix startled, shifting back on his heels. He almost looked flushed. Sylvain was reading far too closely into this. Time to back peddle. Sylvain rushed to fill the gap, blurting out words.

“It won’t be just me, Ashe and Ingrid sometimes come, Dorothea, too, we get wings, there’s music, sometimes like- the local bands will play,” he babbled.

Felix looked resolutely towards the ground. “Oh, Yeah, no that sounds nice, uh, I’ll come.” It’s a stiff response but he’s agreed, so Sylvain chalks this up as a win. He can’t have made it too weird. Maybe a little, maybe he needs to stop pushing his luck. They begin to pick their way back up the short slope.

“Sweet, Cool! Great! Ok, well, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Sylvain cringes at the string of words as they run from his mouth.

“Oh and I’ll let you know about getting some supplies to fix that wiring. I’m pretty handy now, you know.” He started to step backwards, eyes remaining on Felix. He is giddy. A wink slipped out before he can stop himself. It’s practically reflexive. This time, the blush on Felix’s face was clear, and Sylvain grinned.

“Thanks, Sylvian”, he crossed his arms like he didn’t know what to do with them. “And I was serious before.”

“Hm?”

“I want to be friends, with you, again,” he coughed, “if you want that too.”

“Yes! Definitely, definitely Felix,” he threw a hand to the back of his neck, “happy to be friends again.”

Felix huffed and continued to bore a hole into the ground between them.

“Well, all right then, I’ll, leave you to it!” He did that silly little half wave one more time and spun to march himself away.

Settling into the driver’s seat, Sylvain clicked his tongue with a chuckle. He lowered his forehead to the steering wheel, his favourite position, and pulled up his contacts list.

“Ingrid, hello, Ingrid?” The line crackled, she must have picked up from the barn. It was mid-morning, so that was right on schedule.

“Yes, hello, it is me, Ingrid, your long-suffering friend.” The sound of a chair scraping on the floor punctuated her voice.

“What am I doing!?”

Ingrid sighed into the line, “I don’t know, what are you doing?”

“I just, it’s like we’re friends again,” Sylvain picked at the dashboard.

“Yes?”

“And…” He drifted off.

“…Yes and?” Ingrid countered.

“God, Ingrid!” Sylvain threw a hand to his forehead- theatrics unseen.

“Sylvain, I love you, but I don’t have all day,” Ingrid spoke gently.

“It’s like he never left, Ing,” and added more quietly, “I think I’m feeling things again.”

“I should hope you are feeling things, being alive and all.” There was a dog barking in the background now. He could hear shushing.

He groaned, “No, Ingrid, things!” He stresses the final word.

“I’m going to beg you to think this through,” Ingrid warned. She sounded soft still, regardless.

“I am!” He protested.

“Are you?”

“I haven’t done anything!”

She said nothing in return. Sylvain looked up, watching as Linhardt emerged from the main building. The man did not ever seem to move with expediency. Sylvain was pretty sure he would react with the same mildly inconvenienced yawn to any event, any emergency. Magical, really.

Sylvain finally sighed, breaking the draw between them. “Ok, like, I was maybe, maybe, flirting like, a little,” he admitted.

“Sylvain”, she chided. He scoffed.

“I know, I know, I said I wouldn’t ever do this again,” he sighed for the second time in seconds.

Of their friends at the time, Ingrid was the only one who then-Sylvain has expressed the full nature of his feelings for their mutual friend. Further, Ingrid was the first person he came out to, as it were. Even then, she was full of tough love, and they had been two scrappy, closeted teens hashing out feelings they hadn’t learned the words for yet.

Ingrid did not pull her punches when it came to acting like a sister.

“I just, I worry, about both of you.” She huffed. There was Ingrid’s urge to protect. It didn’t matter how long Felix had been gone, she held onto family bonds with an iron grip.

“I know, I know.”

Ingrid huffed into the phone, unsatisfied. “Promise me you wont just think with your dick this time?”

Sylvain let out a laugh that was a choked gasp, feigned outrage. It really wasn’t that unfair of her. It wasn’t like Sylvain wasn’t game for it- most of the time.

Ingrid yelped, “I said “just”! C’mon, gimme a break.”

“Anyway, we talked about being friends today, gonna focus on that. I wanna be friends again- I think that’s uh, safer ground, for both of us” Sylvain laughed, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Oh and Ingrid, the point being, he said he’d come out tomorrow night.”

The line crackled. “Felix Fraldarius said he would come back to the bar? Felix? Are you sure he wasn’t body snatched?”

“Ingrid!” She laughed, but sounded happy. He added, hopeful, “You’ll come out too?”

She sighed, Sylvain closed his eyes. Sylvain braced himself for her thoughtful decline. Sylvain hummed. The local just wasn’t particularly Ingrid's style most of the time, she didn’t love loud music, she hated being bumped into and she was absolutely not going to set foot in the place on a karaoke night. “Yeah, yes, I’ll come out,” Ingrid hummed back, “it’s wing night? Right?”

He threw a fist into the air, triumphant. It was all coming together. He was not above plying Ingrid and Felix with buffalo wings.

“Sure is!” Sylvain chuckled, the night was set. Sylvain was hesitant to think it would be like old times, but he could feel his cheeks tightening into a smile all the same. “So,” he dropped his voice lower, “hey, have you talked to ‘Thea yet?”

He heard the chair scrape on the floor over the line. “What? Why?” Ingrid feigned absolutely no casualness, not even slightly convincing.

“Look. Just a hunch.”

Ingrid grumbled. ”I’m not trying to pry,” sylvain said, prying.

“Really? Because from here…” She drifted off.

“I know! I swear. I just. Look, Ingrid. If you wanna talk about it you can.” he adds, helpfully. “I just want my friends to be happy, and if they’re happy with each other, that’s a bonus. You said you just couldn’t figure out where to start, right, how about if,”

She cuts him off, “I think I’ll just talk to Dorothea, actually. No offense, matchmaker.”

“Oh, you want me to sing fiddler at you? I can do that, for you Ingrid,” and he launched into song, “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!”

“Good-bye, Sylvain!”

The line clicked off, and Sylvain was left pressing his fingers into his smile, he really loved his friends. His cheeks felt warm and he couldn’t just blame the sensation on being wind chapped, not honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my outline the next chapter tentatively has some smut, so like, I'm just staring into the middle distance and rubbing my temples. pain.  
> wish me luck. & also. in my conception of this story felix is trans, which I guess I will also need to like, add as a tag. tagging. wjlfjkljlkj pain. pain!!! 
> 
> I hope I've written these two jerks with convincing dialogue so far. big ol' self doubt party today. I hope you enjoyed! There will also be more ingrid horse girl in the next section. more horses all around, actually.


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